The
sordid surroundings of Newgate, its thieves, male and female, its thieve
takers, gave zest to her naturalness and simplicity. Moreover she was
not in a fashionable dress, she wore no hoops (and neither did Lucy) and
this in itself was a novelty and a contrast.
It was some time after the performance that Lavinia--whom everyone now
called Polly--left the theatre. The noblemen who had seats on the stage
crowded round her overwhelming her with compliments and looks of
admiration. One of their number, a man of portly presence at least twice
her age, whose face suggested good nature but little else, was assiduous
in his attentions. Lavinia accepted his flattery as a matter of course,
and thought nothing more about him. She was told he was the Duke of
Bolton, but duke or earl made no difference to her. Some of her titled
admirers offered to escort her home but she shook her head laughingly
and refused everyone. She knew very well that Lancelot Vane would be
waiting for her as usual at the stage door, and she did not intend
either to disappoint him or make him jealous.
She joined him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with excitement.
Vane looked eagerly and anxiously into her face and gave a little sigh.
"Well," said she, "are you disappointed with me?"
"Disappointed! Good heavens, no. Why Lavinia--"
"Lavinia," she cried tossing her head coquettishly.
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